


from which stars have we fallen to meet each other here?

by secretfeanorian



Series: the worst things in life come free to us [23]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 20:29:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16562624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: The next few weeks pass in something of a blur for Maglor. He’d expected the stress to start to die down a little after the conference, but it instead ramps up to new heights.





	from which stars have we fallen to meet each other here?

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I don’t know. I’ve been staring at this for way too long and it’s not getting any better, so here. Have an attempt.

_I’m full of poetry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry._  


* * *

_  
_ The next few weeks pass in something of a blur for Maglor. He’d expected the stress to start to die down a little after the conference, but it instead ramps up to new heights.  
  
In an effort to avoid the stress, he closes himself off and sticks to his quarters. The rest of the Avengers mostly leave him alone, for which he is grateful. They seem to have picked up on his need to work through things on his own.  
  
The only questions he can’t seem to shake are the ones concerning Daeron. Why had he shown up at all? Why had he called attention to himself? Maglor is fairly certain that whatever Daeron is doing with himself these days, it’s not being a reporter. He’s tempted to bring the subject up with someone, but repeatedly decides against it. He’s accepted being under the spotlight’s scrutiny for himself, but doesn’t want to unintentionally pull the other elf into it against his will. Still, the questions continue to incessantly nag at him and three and a half weeks after the press conference, he leaves the tower early in the morning.  
  
As Maglor wanders through the city, his mind rolls. He’s not sure he really wants the answers and he’s not sure Daeron wants to give him the answers. He’s surely imposed enough on other people’s lives. He ducks into an alley and just stands there, considering. Every possible reaction he imagines is worse than the last and he starts to wonder if maybe this wasn’t the best idea. He and Daeron aren’t exactly friends; their relationship extends to “the only other elf I know of still in Middle-earth” and not much further. He shouldn’t go and upset whatever strange balance they’ve found for themselves. And yet…the look in Daeron’s eyes, the almost grief, nags at him. Maybe they’re not friends, but maybe they could be. And he still doesn’t remember their interactions during his insanity. Daeron had hinted at some and the knowing look he’d given Maglor just confirms it. Maglor is many things, but he’s never been particularly good at letting sleeping dogs lie.  
  
Exactly how long he stands in that alley shifting through his thoughts, Maglor couldn’t say, but when he finally does shake off the fog of paranoia, the sun is almost directly overhead. Chewing on his lower lip, he slips back onto the sidewalk and continues on his way. It’s not until he’s standing across the street from Daeron’s apartment building that he considers the fact that the elf might not even be home. He’d gotten the impression that Daeron had more normal job hours. Again, he almost turns back and heads back to the Tower, but eventually he heads across the street and up the stairs until he finds himself standing in front of Daeron’s door. Without allowing himself too long to once again dwell on the possibilities, he knocks on the door. For a minute, there is silence on the other side, but before long he hears someone shuffling around. Only a few seconds later the door opens and he finds himself staring at Daeron, who doesn’t even pretend to look surprised. He just steps to the side to let Maglor in, then shuts the door behind him.  
  
Once inside, his words seem to stick to his throat, but this too Daeron has apparently expected. He just heads back into the apartment and Maglor silently follows him. He expects some comment once they are both sitting down, but Daeron says nothing. He just watches Maglor until the pressure bursts up through the block in his throat. The question that does escape does so in a whisper, but it feels like a shout. “Why were you there?” He asks, the follow-up of “And why were you trying to help?” goes unasked.  
  
For a few long minutes, there is silence, but Maglor doesn’t dare look over. Finally, he hears the other elf sigh and set down the book he’d been reading. “You’re too hard on yourself when left to your own devices and then no one else gets the full picture.”  
  
At first, Maglor struggles to process the sentence that had just passed his ears. When he looks across at Daeron, his expression is the same as the one that’s lingered in his mind for weeks. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny and the pity, he looks away within a few seconds. Thus unseen by him, Daeron’s expression twists further into grief.  
  
“I doubt you remember,” he begins and Maglor flinches, certain of what is about to be said, “But we...happened to cross paths many times after you’d fully sunk into madness.” Maglor finds the implication of this being mere coincidence slightly difficult to believe and some of his skepticism must show on his face, because Daeron changes direction abruptly. “The first few times **were** coincidence, but after that I started to keep a deliberate eye on you.”  
  
“Why?” Maglor feels brittle all the sudden. Like a single gentle word will shatter him, leaving something else behind.  
  
Daeron sighs, for a moment looking every bit the old soul they both are. “I would wish the fate that befell you on no one. If you had spent another hundred thousand years hunting that damned thing through whichever poor souls bore it next, you still wouldn’t have deserved it. Any debt of blood you may have owed, you paid in full long, long ago and yet you continued to pay. Everything I did to attempt to help you…shake off your Doom failed, but I couldn’t just…stop trying.” He takes a deep breath that almost seems to rattle in his lungs as it escapes. “Then you appeared to disappear entirely and I was terrified until you showed up on the news. Your sanity apparently restored. I almost showed up then, but then you disappeared again, ready to sabotage yourself out of guilt. I guess I didn’t want that to happen.”  
  
Whatever the answer Maglor had been expecting, that had not been it and he forgets to breathe. There’s no other outward sign of the emotions seething within, but Daeron picks up on his violently churning thoughts and abandons the pretense of distance. Before Maglor realizes what is going on, Daeron has crossed the room and is sitting next to him. He’s still not quite close enough to be touching, but close enough that Maglor can feel his body heat. He can start to breathe again and for the next few minutes, they sit side by side, breathing in sync.  
  
Maglor distantly notes Daeron biting his lips, and then he flinches when he feels an arm wrap around his shoulder. The arm retreats for a moment, but when Maglor hesitantly leans toward the warmth, he is pulled more tightly against Daeron’s side. Tears begin to well up and he tries frantically to blink them away. But the tears are building from emotions buried away for years beyond count and this time there’s no holding them in. The sound that comes out of Daeron’s throat isn’t one that Maglor knows how to respond to and the one-armed half-hug changes to a full hug as Daeron wraps his other arm around Maglor and pulls him somehow even closer. Something deep inside him that has been rotting for thousands of years tenses up, then relaxes so suddenly that he is only just able to avoid physically recoiling.  
  
He loses track of how long they sit there, soaking in each other’s presence. Eventually though, Daeron leans back to stretch and Maglor uncoils from the ball he’d slipped into. The silence in the room turns awkward, but it isn’t allowed much time to simmer before Maglor’s phone begins to ring.  
  
They start in unison, then Maglor laughs ever so softly. Daeron smiles at him, but as the phone continues to go off, he tilts his head as if to ask if he’s going to answer it. He doesn’t really want to, but if he doesn’t then it’s likely to just keep ringing until he does.  
  
Before he _can_ answer it, however, it stops ringing, buzzes once, and then falls silent altogether. Maglor’s brow furrows in confusion and he pauses. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Daeron tilt his head even further and the sight, for some reason, starts him laughing again.  
  
Finally, he pulls the phone out and glances at it. The incoming text is just a single line, from Tony of all people. It just reads “You okay?” It forces a sarcastic snort out of Maglor’s mouth. There are so many possible responses to the question and almost all of them will bring about a deeply uncomfortable conversation. Instead of any honest one, he sends back “Just went out to clear my head” and sets the phone aside.  
  
In the brief span of time it took him to do this, Daeron had gotten up and moved into the kitchen. Maglor can hear him moving around and after a moment to consider, he stands and wanders into the kitchen as well. Daeron turns when he hears him enter. Maglor expects an awkward silence to descend over the room, but the silence they do fall into is more companionable than anything else. He still feels raw in every corner of his body, but Daeron’s presence is oddly soothing. When he makes his way back to the Tower several hours later, his mind is completely quiet for the first time in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> In case I didn't unintentionally make it completely obvious, Daeron/Maglor is one of my oldest ships and while this series was never intended to be...shippy, it's definitely gonna work its way into subtext if I keep writing. I apologize for nothing.


End file.
